Too much dancing. Too much heat. She only wanted the zipper down an inch to release the pressure on her ribs, before she died in this sea of rippling, pounding bodies, but it was stuck. Feeling dizzy, she beseeched the nearby, dreamy, dazed faces. Not one girl would help her. They always said she was too much girl for her clothes. It couldn’t be true.
Spotting the foxiest man in the club, she approached him.
“If you can get my zipper unstuck you can feel my breasts right here,” she said.
With all the coolness in the world, he took her metal promise in his mouth. His face was level with her breasts. He tugged. She swayed forward, bashing him with her cleavage. Not a bad thing, if she was a stripper. Like a puppy with a chew toy, he tried again. Nothing.
Leading her by the zipper through the massive crowd, who were jittering their nerves through ecstasy, booze and techno, he took her over to the DJ booth. She balked. God, he was going to announce her zipper was stuck to everyone. No. He parked her under a steady light source. Prying her vest away from her moist skin, he worked the zipper while she stared at him. She knew him. He wasn’t the foxiest man trying to get laid. He was the bouncer with the massive forearms and kick ass attitude. If he spoke in his baritone, hard edged voice, people trembled.
What had she done?
The more he tugged, the more she lost air, the vest a tightening corset. Her legs swayed. As if he sensed her immanent collapsed, he grabbed a folding chair and pulled her astride him. In a fever pitch he worked the zipper, a man on a mission. The more he pulled, the more she mashed against him. His breath was hot on her skin, the sweat on his forehead dancing across her tiny freckles.
Suddenly, the zipper released. With a sound like sigh, it opened. Air rushed in. She sucked it in, greedy, desperate, relieved. Like an artist revealing a work of art, he slowly opened her vest. Speechless, he looked. She could see it in his eyes. He thought she was hot, but he started to close her vest, the gentleman he was.
Grabbing the back of his head, she smashed his face into her cleavage. He was all hands, lips, open mouth and rough magic as he ravished her like she had never been touched before. Off her shoulders, her vest began to slip. She came to her senses, pulling away from him, like parchment paper from glue.
With a confident gleam, she zipped herself back up partway, her cleavage gloriously exposed. No longer the chunky monkey, wall flower that no one wanted, she parted the crowd, girls included, her new lover trying to catch her by the back of her pants.
THE END
